Fumes
by the-spoon-of-doom
Summary: Optimus's reproductive protocols get in the way of Megatron trying to beat the scrap out of him, and it turns out to be a lot more difficult trying to fight a mech that wants to clang you, rather than a mech that wants to kill you. G1, Sticky, Dub Con.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my universe, not my anything.

Warnings: Loads. Sticky sex, Dub Con, a bit of canon violence, and there's a swear in here somewhere. I think.

Excuses: Too many to list.

* * *

_"Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs"_

* * *

Heat cycles were often barely noticeable. To the mech suffering them.

One of rare few effects the cycle had on its victims was increased fuel efficiency, for obvious reasons. It often resulted in a unique though temporary scent, and subconscious EM field flaring.

Whom a heat cycle did effect however, was anyone within olfactory sniffing distance. Base coding clicked online and overruled processor function, and could turn even the most civilised of mechs into rutting hooligans, pit-bent on spiking what their overzealous stud protocols were telling them was a consenting Cybertronian desperate for their attention.

Since Optimus had no intention of getting clanged seven ways into the next stellar cycle by a base full of horny Autobots he, and everyone else for that matter, had their contraceptive baffle upgrades checked on a regular basis.

"Your frame wants to go into a heat cycle," Ratchet informed Optimus during a routine checkup as he finished his scan. "I want to secure those baffles, just as a precaution."

Optimus nodded his consent. It was a fairly standard -though invasive- procedure, better than the alternative at least.

Ratchet worked quickly and efficiently and before Optimus had much of a chance to cringe, he was finished.

"There," Ratchet patted his thigh as a sign that he could sit up again. "That should do it. Nothing short of a blast from Megatron's fusion cannon itself will loosen those up."

At the time Optimus had smiled, thanked Ratchet, and left, but with hindsight, it felt all too much like tempting fate.

* * *

Optimus barrelled through the dirt at full speed, bypassing the smoother human built roads to get to the power station the Decepticons were raiding sooner. He could see the rising smoke and chaotic swarm of disorganised seekers from here. His convoy of Autobots weren't far behind, but few of their altmodes could handle the rough terrain and were sticking to the tarmac.

There was no time to wait for them. Megatron needed to be stopped before human life was put at risk. The Decepticons had the sadistic tendency to torment prisoners left at their mercy for too long. Their bloodthirsty nature often resulted in massacres and disasters.

Optimus passed many of the power plant's escapees as he charged through the security gates the Decepticons had ripped open. There didn't seem to be any hostages, which would make things easier.

From what Optimus could hear, Starscream and his seekers were too preoccupied shrieking at each other to act as efficient sentinels, and Megatron was given no warning when he transformed and leapt through a blasted hole in the side of the power station.

"Megatron!" He shouted to announce his presence, taking some small satisfaction in how the Decepticon flinched at the sound of his voice, "Stand down!"

Unsurprisingly, his enemy had no intention of listening. Megatron's face twisted into a snarl, his frame stance shifting from proud and victoriously arrogant, to dangerous and feral as battle protocols fired into life.

"Prime!" Megatron spat, lifting the arm mounted with his fusion cannon. "Deactivate him!"

The Decepticons that had been sucking the plant's power cores dry dropped their cubes and unsubspaced weapons. Optimus dived behind a pillar as unaimed blaster shots flew past and scorched the walls behind him.

He heard Megatron's rasping bellow above the noise just before the whir of a fusion cannon. There was a flash of heat and bright light seared Optimus's optics.

"Come out and fight, coward!"

Optimus obliged, rolling out from behind the pillar and charging at Megatron, knowing he had less than a breem before the Decepticon could fire his cannon again.

Megatron was ready for him, his pedes spread in a wide stance to keep him balanced. He stumbled when Optimus hit him, but lost no ground, and Optimus quickly found himself winded when Megatron span for momentum and slammed his heavy pede into his abdomen, where the armour was weakest.

He backed away, intakes sucking in air desperately as he tried to straighten up. But Megatron was relentless in his fury and drove a fist into the side of his helm, knocking him off his equilibrium and sending him crashing to the floor.

He glimpsed a pede about to stamp down on his throat, and rolled to the side just in time. The floor shook with the force of the missed blow. He pushed himself up, but before he had a chance to stand Megatron swung another kick at his abdominal plating.

It was a low, dirty move, and Optimus hadn't expected it, even from Megatron. He fell back to the floor with a pained grunt, and heard something loose rattle inside him. He suddenly felt _warm_.

The other Decepticons had left. From what Optimus could hear through the ringing of his audials they were outside trying to fight off the arriving Autobots. His mechs wouldn't break through in time to save him, but at least the Decepticon's plans had been foiled.

Frame aching on the floor, Optimus waited to feel the scorching heat of a fusion powered weapon. To hear some sort of a cruel parting words from Megatron himself. But there was only still silence.

Grimacing, Optimus risked rolling into his back, exposing his more delicate and already battered front to the warlord.

Megatron was still standing over him, but the hate that twisted his expression had transmuted into something else, something Optimus struggled to comprehend. It was not dissimilar to how Prowl looked whenever his processor locked itself down.

But then slowly Megatron's expression changed again, his confusion melting away into a scowl. Optimus felt his hot, sizzling energy crackling in the atmosphere, differing somehow to the usually violent aura the Decepticon gave out.

Optimus wasn't sure what was keeping him in place at Megatron's pedes, where he was at the warlord's mercy, but something, some unconscious part of him, wanted to stay within his reach.

Having never been one to listen to unreasonable instincts, Optimus cast those thoughts aside. He forced himself to move, shoving himself upwards and back to get some distant between him and the pedes that had moments ago been attempting to crush his throat cabling.

His sudden movement broke whatever spell Megatron had been under and drove his enemy into action again. Optimus yanked a weapon out of his subspace. It was kicked from his servo before he could aim and went skidding across the large open room, far out of reach.

He went to scramble after it but Megatron stalked forwards, black servos reaching for him and wrapping around one of his legs, dragging him back. Optimus winced as his armour scraped across the polished floor, leaving blue and red scuffs in its wake.

"You may succeed in deactivating me Megatron," Optimus threw at the warlord, suspecting these may be his last words, "But the matrix will choose another mech, just as determined to extinguish your evil!"

He thought they'd been rather good last words, a pity only Megatron was present to hear them, and probably wouldn't appreciate them.

"Shut up you fool!" Megatron barked, and to Optimus's immense surprise, dropped to his knees before him, servos still tightly clutching his leg, "Throwing yourself at me won't save you!"

Optimus had to restart his optics, sure the blow his processor had taken earlier in the fight was now playing tricks on him. Megatron's servo felt very warm against his armour, and though it was gripping hard, it didn't feel uncomfortable. Optimus fought back a squirm and tried to organise his thoughts. The fact that he hadn't pulled away hadn't even entered his mind.

"Stop it Prime," Megatron then hissed low, his denta gritted together as if he was under great duress.

Optimus would have gladly stopped whatever he was supposed to have been doing if only Megatron would start acting like his usual, violent, merciless self. Because this was just weird.

He shifted the leg caught in Megatron's grasp, and the servo on his armour tightened.

"I'm-" he tore his optics away from where he was being touched somewhat inappropriately to refocus on Megatron's snarling face, "I -release me!" He suddenly found the sense to demand.

Megatron did no such thing, and another servo landed on his other leg. Optimus's tank leapt when he was yanked closer to the kneeling warlord and leant back as Megatron closed in, moving close enough that Optimus could see the rapid brightening and darkening of his red optics.

"You know what you're doing!" He snapped, and Optimus could feel the warlord's intakes working fast and heavy against his plating, could see Megatron's olfactory sensors noticeably testing the air.

Optimus tested it for himself. What could he possibly be-?

It clicked into place in his processor, and realisation and dawning understanding was marred with horror.

"No!" He threw out his servos, shoving at Megatron's broad chest plates to get him off, get him away, quickly. "No Megatron, stop!"

But Megatron wasn't budging. All that time he'd been feeling awkward on the floor his enemies stud protocols had been busy at work, overruling the warlord's processor, shutting down dominant cognitive codes one by one.

Things like a millennia of hate and the burning desire to have Optimus's helm mounted above his throne were now gone from Megatron's mind. Now there was only one thing Megatron's stud protocols wanted him to do, and that was to ravage the unfortunate mech beneath him.

But Optimus had always believed that the processor was more than a mere slave to base coding.

"Megatron!" He tried to reach through to his enemy as large, warm servos slid up his legs, "Megatron, snap out of it!"

Megatron wasn't listening; clawing at his thighs, trying to spread them apart as Optimus struggled to keep them locked together. He could smell himself now, the tangy metallic scent wafting from beneath his armour that must have been a result of the heat cycle.

He could feel Megatron purring, a satisfied rumble that shuddered all through his frame and tickled at Optimus's armour where their plating met. Megatron's face came down to press against Optimus's shoulder, his intakes working deep as he appeared to savour the alluring scent. With a hum that Optimus felt on his derma plating the temperature started to rise rapidly, heat radiating off Megatron's frame as the Decepticon's systems readied themselves for procreation.

Optimus abandoned his attempts at dislodging Megatron's heavy frame and grabbed his helm instead, straining to pull the warlord's face away from his shoulder. He slapped a servo over the lower half of Megatron's face, hoping to obstruct his ability to smell him and maybe just bring him back.

"Megatron listen!" He shouted in the grey mech's audials, "You're not yourself! You don't _want_ this!"

His attempts at reasoning with Megatron only distracted him though. Megatron managed to wretch his helm free of Optimus's servo and in the resulting struggle caught him off guard enough to wedge a knee between his thighs.

The Decepticon barked out a triumphant laugh at the small victory, so Optimus punched him square in the face.

Since negotiation didn't seem to be working he'd just have to resort to violence. Like he did with everything when Megatron was involved. Unfortunately his enemy was just as prepared to get a little rough in order to achieve his goals.

Thick digits crammed themselves into the gap between Optimus's armoured facemask and natural plating. Metal groaned and screeched, and Optimus felt a sharp sting as it pulled at the sides of his helm. There was a snap, and cool atmosphere washed across his lower face. The exposure somehow felt more vulnerable to him than Megatron's thigh between his legs.

Which was rather crudely rubbing against his intimate panels in ways which were too pleasant to be acceptable.

"Megatron!" He snarled, voice deepening with the strain of trying to extract himself from his enemy's grasping -but tempting- clutches, "Megatron- Don't -make me- hurt-hmm!?"

His exposed jaw was grasped and pulled into a rough and unexpected kiss, muffling his threats. He tried to turn his helm, but strong servos kept him in place. Megatron's slick glossa pressed against his sealed lip plates, licking and probing teasingly to try and gain the access Optimus was denying him.

It would have worked, had Megatron not tweaked a sensitive wire on his hip joint. He gasped, and Megatron moved swiftly, thick glossa delving deep and twinning around Optimus's, forcing him to taste his enemy's oral fluids. Optimus grimaced through it, forcing himself not to acknowledge that it was revoltingly... pleasant.

He hadn't been sure what to expect from a Decepticon when it came to kissing, but it wasn't this. It was surprisingly denta-free. Unwanted, invasive, and dizzying, but painless.

He hadn't realised just how much he wasn't* minding it until he caught himself reciprocating; tilting his helm for accessibility, flicking his glossa out to meet Megatron's- and rocking his frame back against the Decepticon's.

Dear Primus, he was encouraging him!

Megatron was only acting under the influence of his base coding. HE had no excuse. This was bordering on treachery. Fraternising with the enemy.

He yanked his helm free, able to do so now that Megatron's servos weren't clamped around it, and tried to shake off the warm flush building in his frame.

"No," he told Megatron breathlessly, "This- we shouldn't. You have to-"

It was difficult to speak with a hot mouth nipping at his throat cabling, difficult to think with one of huge, powerful servo so very close to his tingling interface panels. His frame wanted to arch into the pressure, he wanted to just lay back and let Megatron's protocols take care of everything. It was only a heat cycle. No one would blame him.

Megatron's groin shoved right up against Optimus's aft plating, and he could *feel* the pressure behind it, the burning heat beneath the Decepticon's panel that was a spike desperate to break free and bury itself deep in something warm and wet and probably him.

Optimus placed his servos on Megatron's shoulders and tried one last time, halfsparkedly pushing the large mech away, "No..."

Megatron was heavy and determined and didn't move an inch, and as thick digits pressed and fumbled around the edges of his valve panel, Optimus's servos went from pushing at his broad shoulders to clutching them like they were his last lifeline. With a quiet click that sounded like a thunderclap in a room silent save for intakes and cooling fans, Optimus's panel opened.

A deep, sickeningly satisfied engine rumble shuddered through Megatron's frame. Optimus grasped at enemy armour and struggled to stifle flinches as curious digits touched him, stroked him, pressed between dampening mesh folds and brushed sensors that sent his spark spinning.

A soft "Prime..." was breathed into his clavicle seams, and Optimus's intakes stalled because Megatron still registered who he was doing this with.

His valve tightened and grew wetter at the thought, the callipers gripping at the lone digit Megatron was slipping inside him with such uncharacteristic care.

"Megatron..." He murmured back, thighs falling open as if it was perfectly acceptable to allow a sworn enemy knuckle deep access to his valve.

Megatron was growing restless, mouthing and breathing and nuzzling at the cables of his throat, his huge frame in constant shifting motion above Optimus, pressing and rocking down onto him. Amongst the pinging of heated metal Optimus heard a sharp snick, and the erotically distinctive hiss of a spike pressurising.

He dared not look down.

Rough servos better suited for mining and war than foreplay and 'facing ran up Optimus's frame. Derma plates tingled and twitched in wake of the warlord's touch. Humid exhaust rushed across his bared face and his optics focused on Megatron again as the Decepticon's face pushed close, the blunt edge of his olfactory sensor brushing Optimus's cheek.

Red optics dimming with ferocious desire, Megatron hummed, the sound deep enough to vibrate straight through armour and protoform to Optimus's spark chamber. It was bizarrely arousing, sending the callipers of his valve into a throbbing, twitching frenzy.

He kept his composure as best he could, thigh armour twitching as a warm stiffness bumped the joint between his leg and groin. Megatron's hips shifted, and Optimus felt the Decepticon's field crackle and fizz with a buzz of energy as he lined himself up. The broad head of Megatron's spike met the outer folds of his valve, and through it Optimus could feel the powerful charge running up and down the length of the Decepticon's interface array.

Being no stranger to what a rough frag entailed, Optimus curled his arms around his enemy's thick neck, and held on.

Megatron pressed forward, gently at first, easing himself in, and Optimus's mouth dropped open in a silent moan as delicate mesh stretched to accommodate the Decepticon's substantial girth.

It was good, so good, and Optimus had to bite his glossa to keep from saying so, his valve eagerly taking Megatron's broad, pulsing spike ridge by ridge as it rocked gradually deeper.

But with barely much more warning than stiffening shoulders, Megatron thrust forward swiftly, sinking his entire length into Optimus's softening valve with a rumbling growl.

Optimus tensed, "Easy!" He cried, servos shaking on Megatron's armoured back.

Megatron groaned thickly against the side of his helm, already drawing back. His spike glided smoothly along Optimus's callipers, and the sting somehow added to the warm pleasure that had began to build below his tank.

And then he came back in, strong and deep, and fulfilling in ways Optimus could never have imagined. His gasp warbled into a moan, and the sound of his gratification accelerated Megatron's pace, the drag of his spike against Optimus's interior sensors built friction and charge quickly.

His spark spiralled and thrilled in a confusing disaster of despair and ecstasy. The irony that the only thing he had to cling to as he endured -_savoured_\- this ordeal was his arch nemesis; a megalomanic warmonger with an unhealthy preoccupation for ending his life, was so cruel of fate that he could have laughed.

The scent of his heat strengthened with arousal and was now converging with the foreign aromas coming off of Megatron. He breathed it in, searching for anything to anchor himself to reality, to not get lost in his own base coding. But Megatron was all warm oil and iron, and it was delicious.

Charge crackled and it was too much. Optimus dragged his servos across Megatron's back, his digits painting blue scars in the Decepticon's matt grey finish. His pedes left the floor to twine around Megatron's legs, to keep him close, to keep him deep.

His overload was building, tightening his joints and plates and valve, and he shook his helm, optics offlining as he tried to push it back. He couldn't enjoy this. Being an unfortunate victim to another mech's archaic protocols was one thing, but willingly submitting to the enemy-

A Prime was supposed to be more than just base coding and heat cycles.

But Megatron was seated deep within his frame and must have known what he was forcing back, what he was refusing to say. His intakes were heavy on Optimus's cheek and his thrusts slowed but deepened, somehow knowing just what to do to ensure both parties reached a climax, regardless of if it was wanted.

"No!" Optimus gasped, denta gnashing, thighs clenching with crushing strength around Megatron's hips.

The pressure surged, the charge sizzled, and overload burst forth, washing through his circuits in a warm wave of release. He seized it, rocking his hips back into Megatron's firm thrusts to draw out the throbbing ecstasy of the moment before it began to fade.

He was barely down from his high when a low purring groan tickled his audial and Megatron's heavy servos tightened on his waist and hip. Another wave of warmth washed through him, and he shuddered at the secondary charge and revoltingly liquid sensation of his enemy's overload.

And it was over.

The weight of the recovering warlord above him was suddenly no longer comforting, or even erotic, but crushingly claustrophobic. Megatron's sighing mouth on his audial was sickeningly damp, breathy, the panting of a well-satisfied mech. He felt the spike resting deep within his intimate array twitch, and begin to depressurise.

Optimus kept his servos splayed flat on Megatron's scapula plates, wary of what movement might bring, of disturbing the sated but _armed_ warlord pinning him to the floor with nothing but dead weight and sheer presence. Whose stud protocols may or may not still be in effect.

With a grunt, Megatron shifted, withdrawing from Optimus, leaving him empty and used. Lubricant tainted with Decepticon transfuild slithered out, tickling Optimus's plating as it dripped. Cringing, Optimus sent a command to reseal his valve, wishing he could do the same with the facemask Megatron had ruined and flung across the room.

A dim red glow was cast over the arch of Optimus's cheek as slowly, Megatron turned his helm, lifting it out of the nook between Optimus's throat cables and shoulder plating to peer lazily at his face. Optimus met his gaze for a moment, half aware that his intakes had stopped cycling air, and slowly, as the Decepticon's memory cores re-connected with conscious processors, Megatron's optics brightened, his frame tensed, armour plates locking together tight.

He spoke first, because Optimus couldn't trust himself to.

"...Prime?" There was'a cautious edge to his voice.

Optimus's throat worked around words he didn't dare speak. He couldn't tear his optics from Megatron's face, just inches from his, and felt heat grow under his facial plates at the intense discomfort of the situation.

He was still slick from their fornication, Megatron's thick spike still a ghost sensation in his tingling valve.

With that last mortifying thought the proximity of his enemy grew too much for him. He tested Megatron's weight, and the warlord noticed, pushing off and scrambling to his pedes, bright red optics still staring down at Optimus sprawled on the power station floor.

Before either of them could speak a crash outside turned their helms, the blaster fire and explosions of their warring factions loud and close. Optimus's spark lifted, his Autobots had broken through enemy lines.

A war machine to his core, Megatron's battle protocols whirred into life instantaneously.

Weaponless, disorientated, and exhausted, Optimus flinched, knowing that though Megatron's optics weren't on him that fusion cannon soon would be.

And with this heat still cycling through his frame, in a matter of breems if he didn't have a smoking hole in his chassis, then he'd certainly have a Decepticon between his legs.

He had to get away, from everyone, Autobot and Decepticon alike. With Megatron distracted, he moved, snatching up the weapon he'd lost in their pre-romp fight.

He shot at Megatron as he fled. There was a snarling roar of pain but Optimus didn't look back to see where his blast had hit.

He leapt into a transformation sequence, charged across the wide open floor of the power station and out the cargo bay on the other side.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Happy New Year!

* * *

Only once he was safe aboard the Ark did Optimus contact his command. He learned through Prowl that the operation had been a successful one, and that Megatron had called an early retreat. Human casualties were at a minimum, as were Cybertronian. Thankfully he did not press Optimus for an explanation over his disappearance.

Ratchet wasn't in the med bay, and was likely on standby for anyone unfortunate enough to have been injured in the earlier battle. Optimus was grateful for his absence. He didn't want to run into anyone else until after he had dealt with his... _issue_.

The question was _how_ to deal with it. He had minimal medical experience, and what little he did know resided more in the realm of blaster wounds and dismemberment than the delicacies of reproductive health.

He had gotten as far as confirming that, yes Megatron's brutality at the power station had successfully shattered his baffles, which is what allowed the dreaded heat cycle to activate, and he was about to decide how to go about rectifying this issue, when the medical bay's doors he was sure he had locked whooshed open.

Legs and intimate panels snapping shut, Optimus dropped his tools and stared like a sparkling caught in the energon treats as Ratchet strode into the room. The medic stopped in surprise at the sight of him, and then glowered.

He began to approach "What are you-?"

Optimus wedged himself into a corner to get away. "Ratchet!" He's shouted urgently, throwing out a servo, "Don't come any closer!"

The medic frowned, and stepped closer anyway, "What on Cybertron has got you all-?" His optics suddenly brightened, and Optimus's tank flipped over as he saw the older mech's olfactory sensors test the air. "Oh..."

Optimus flattened himself against the wall, spark spinning in frenzied panic, the mortifying scenario at the power station still at the forefront of his processor. And he did not want to go for a round two.

But Ratchet only waved him off, "Cool your jets Prime, I wouldn't be a medic if I was _that_ susceptible to oestrus cycles." He continued into the room, muttering as he bent to retrieve the tools Optimus had dropped in his panic.

Optimus reset his optics, and after a moment of observing Ratchet going about his usual business, let himself relax. He unstuck himself from the wall and shuffled closer as Ratchet beckoned him, watching the medic's actions carefully.

His behaviour was met with a heavy sigh, "If I was going to jump your circuits I would have done it already."

Optimus ducked his helm and plonked himself down on the examination berth, and then catching sight of a matte grey smudge against his white armour, hurriedly rubbed at his inner thigh plating to remove it. Ratchet had his back to him, fiddling with unseen tools, and luckily did not see. Optimus rested his forearms on his thighs self-consciously, and tried not to fidget as he waited.

Despite his condition, Ratchet was the pinnacle of professionalism- until he pulled out what remained of the baffles he'd re-secured in Optimus's valve just yesterday. "Well here's your problem..." He pulled the trashed machinery out into the open, and then stared at it. "What in the name of-?"

Optimus cleared his vocaliser, "...Megatron." He explained quietly, plating warming as he thought of the mech.

Ratchet nodded slowly, already taking out newer, shinier replacements.

They didn't speak again until Ratchet was finished and Optimus was sitting back up, panels closed and core temperature cooling rapidly now that the cycle was being repressed.

Ratchet was still hovering nearby, clearly tempted to ask something but controlling the urge for the sake of his leader's dignity. Optimus supposed if anyone should have to know what had happened, it would be his medic anyway.

"Ratchet," he breathed, searching for the best phrasing to explain himself. "During the raid I-"

But Ratchet waved him off, "You don't have to explain. I know."

Optimus swallowed thickly, feeling foolish. Of course Ratchet knew. The medic had just had to repair intimate array covered in the evidence of what had happened.

"You okay?"

Ratchet's tone was far gentler than what Optimus was used to, and he had to look away, feeling undeserving of the sympathy. "Fine," he murmured. "I didn't exactly... Object."

He risked a glance at Ratchet and saw the medic grimace.

"It's part of the heat cycle." Ratchet tried to reassure him, "Some can cope with their base coding better than others."

Optimus was reminded of how quickly Megatron had succumbed to his coding, how little control he seemed to have over his own actions. He wondered how he was dealing with this -if Megatron could even _remember_ what had happened. He blushed and cast the thought aside.

"Lower caste mechs tend to have it worse," Ratchet offered casually, as if he'd known what Optimus was thinking, "Stronger overrides. Just the way they're built."

Already wracked with humiliation, and now _guilt_ over the entire debacle, Optimus decided it was best if he just called it a night and returned to his quarters. He thanked Ratchet and made a swift escape, in desperate need of the washracks as he hastened through the base, arms held stiff at his sides as he willed himself not to touch the dampness he knew still lingered on intimate plating.

* * *

There was little one could do to change the past. So Optimus elected not to dwell on it. Unfortunate though the 'incident' between himself and Megatron had been, he could no more blame the Decepticon for possessing archaic override protocols than he could himself for his frame's uncontrollable biological functions.

It had been an Earth week since the last Decepticon raid, and their enemies were long overdue another attempt. Optimus was thankful for the delay (because part of him worried how on Cybertron he was ever going to look Megatron in the optic again, let alone stand between him and innocent targets on a battlefield), though anxious of their intentions.

His apprehension was soon rewarded with a summons to what was quite possibly the most pointless officers meeting to have ever been called.

Naturally, Red Alert was the culprit.

On the table before them sat a rather large stone and a few pieces of dying Earth plant life. The items which Red Alert had hysterically dubbed the 'security crisis'.

Optimus waited for someone else to say it.

"You better come up with a good explanation or I'm cracking that glitching helm of yours open, Red." Ratchet broke the silence coldly.

"It's a Decepticon plot!" Red Alert burst out, optics fixed on the offending items. "Buzzsaw planted them not a mile from the base. In full view of my cameras! It's obviously a trap!"

Optimus focused on the organic material again. "Red..." He began gently.

"It's a rock!" Jazz cut across him, "What's the worst it can do? Land on our pedes?"

"It could be a bomb! It could be a camera! It could be remote controlled! Sent to murder us one by one in our recharge!"

"You thought of all that but brought it into the base anyway?!" Ratchet thundered in a tone that threatened violence. Optimus instinctively flinched.

Red Alert jumped to defend his actions, defiantly telling a rapidly angering Ratchet that he was the security officer of the base, and Ratchet had no right to try to tell him how to do his job. As the argument grew increasingly louder, Optimus's attention was drawn to Ironhide, who was lifting and dropping the sizeable rock. Apparently just to see if it really was a bomb.

"If you're all quite finished!" An authoritative voice called over the ruckus. There was enough of a lull in the argument for Optimus to recognise Prowl's irritated inflection.

The tactician was scowling at their security officer.

"Red Alert, I am sure you're more than capable of evaluating whatever threat these..." He graced the offending objects with a look of distain, "...suspicious items may possess on your own."

He glanced to Optimus, waiting for his verdict.

Optimus hurriedly cleared his vocaliser, "Yes. Of course. Red, deal with the situation as you deem necessary."

Both his Second and security officer seemed pleased with this verdict. From what he could hear over the general murmuring of those who remained, Ratchet was not.

He glanced one last time at the large rock, and the mismatched collection of twigs resting beside it, before following his mechs out the door.

* * *

It was a sad day indeed when anybody had to concede that Red Alert might have been right about something.

Pebbles, leaves, sand, grass, actual trash, and a _dead_ _bird_ had joined their collection of random things the Decepticons kept dumping in their proverbial front yard. Upon mentioning the problem to their human companions, Spike had asked if the Decepticons bore any resemblance to domestic organic felines. Optimus wasn't sure why.

"Maybe..." Jazz began, frowning at the collection of random organic items set out before them, "it's a riddle?"

Prowl made a static filled noise of disgust as he entered the room. "For the last time, Jazz," he pointed angrily at the dead bird, "Dispose of that thing!"

"That's vital evidence!" Red Alert squeaked when Jazz moved to comply.

"It's not evidence, it's junk!" Ratchet barked.

On the other side of the room Optimus was leaning back in his seat. Having already heard several variations of this same argument already that week, he had long ago stopped listening. Until blaring alarms had him lurching to his pedes in surprise.

The frustrated yelling instantly morphed into panicked yelping as his various officers tripped over themselves and each other in their race to discover what had triggered the alarms.

Upon arrival, they found the towering screen of teletraan-1 lit up with the Decepticons in the fiendish activity of... loitering?

Optimus was aware of an unpleasant sinking feeling in the depths of his tank as he observed the image of a select group of Decepticons waiting by outpost cameras, Megatron included. This couldn't be good.

"They're going to attack!" Red Alert was panicking below him.

Optimus doubted that. There were five of them after all, and though the Decepticons were notoriously bad at planning ahead, no one was that stupid. And they didn't look out for a fight either.

"Perhaps..." He began slowly, hardly believing he was even suggesting this. "They wish to negotiate?"

He was sure if he hadn't been their Prime he would have been laughed out of the command centre.

Prowl gave him a look. "That is highly unlikely."

Optimus looked back at Megatron on the screen, who was trampling the earth with his impatient pacing. Whatever he wanted, it was urgent.

"There is only one way to find out," he murmured.

* * *

Much to Optimus's chagrin, his command had insisted on coming with him.

Optimus knew it would have been foolish to meet with the Decepticon party alone, he could easily be overpowered, kidnapped and or killed, but the long break between his last meeting with Megatron had done nothing to soothe the awkwardness he felt, and he would have preferred to face his enemy alone. At least then any potential humiliation would be relatively private.

He still wasn't sure if Megatron even remembered any of it. And as he drove across the expanse of open land towards the waiting Decepticons, he realised that only made it worse, not knowing. Not knowing how to act, how to behave, what to say.

Megatron's face was set in its usual stoney expression, his solid arms folded across his armoured chest, his stance wide and firm. Nothing out of the ordinary. That was a good sign.

He had seekers flanking him, including his bored looking command trine. They smirked and snickered, muttering things under their breath as Optimus turned into his bipedal mode. That was not a good sign.

"Megatron," he rumbled in his most stern voice. He straightened to his full height and locked his mask close to his face.

"Prime," Megatron growled back casually, shifting his footing.

Optimus glared, waiting for some sort of threat to come forth, or at least an explanation. But Megatron just stood there, pede tapping impatiently, brow raised in expectation. Optimus cleared his intakes awkwardly.

Finally Megatron sighed. "Well?" He pushed, intense gaze boring into Optimus.

"Well, what?" Optimus answered back, keeping his demeanour confident, even as his throat tightened with anxiety.

Megatron outright scowled then, "My proposal!" He snapped, "You've had two weeks Prime! Make a decision!"

Optimus blinked. Proposal? He glanced to Prowl, who looked just as confused, if not more so, than him. Beside him, Jazz was no more helpful. He forced himself to meet Megatron's gaze again, hyper aware of the unsettled Decepticon's lurking behind their commander. "Sorry?"

Megatron huffed, apparently impatient, "You accepted my gifts, didn't you?"

Optimus frowned. Gifts? From Megatron?!

Behind him, Jazz's jaw dropped, "The dead bird?!"

Megatron seemed surprised, "Dead?"

He turned to glower at Starscream, who was stood just to his left and looked like he was trying very hard not to grin. Optimus suspected there was a story behind the bird's original condition.

But there were more pressing things to worry about. "Wait," he shook his helm, "The rock? The twigs? Those were 'gifts'?"

Megatron straightened self-consciously, "You... _enjoy _organic material, don't you?"

Behind his mask, Optimus was gawping, and he was so shocked, that he hadn't noticed the stifling silence they had fallen into. Ratchet cleared his intakes, loudly, but it sounded more like he was choking on his own exhaust.

Optimus shook his helm. "I- I don't understand," he forced through his disbelief to speak. "Why would you send us gifts?"

Megatron snorted, "They're for _you,_ Prime, not your pathetic hoard of malfunctions. Now, do you accept my courting proposal or not?"

Optimus froze, and next to him, Prowl hit the ground with a dull thud. For a moment Optimus thought he was going to join him there. No one moved to help his tactician, they were likely just as shocked.

"Excuse me?" He hissed disbelievingly, staring at Megatron as if the Decepticon's fusion cannon had just started firing plastic ducks. "Do I accept _what_?!"

"Courting, Prime!" He snapped, apparently completely oblivious to his own bizarre behaviour. "I have to assume since you have accepted all of my gifts you are here to consent to my intentions to court you!"

Optimus was speechless. Thankfully, other such Autobot's were not.

"Back the Nemesis up!" Jazz yelped, stepping forward and waving his arms, as if he could just shoo Megatron away from his shocked commander. "You can't just spring something like this on a mech-"

Megatron's optics darkened as they focused on him, "I sprung nothing!" He declared, "I have waited two weeks, sent dozens of gifts-"

Jazz was shaking his helm, "No," he said firmly, "I don't know what that stuff was but they weren't gifts-"

"Why would you want to court him in the first place!?" Ratchet then fired up, shock receding enough to protest. "This another one of your dumb plots? Trying to glitch him up?!"

If Megatron's true intentions were to glitch Optimus up, then it was working worryingly well.

"My intentions are honourable!" Megatron thundered, and he was either a better actor than anyone had thought, or was telling the truth. Which was terrifying. "I am rectifying a err in both our judgments. It is the only respectable course of action after-"

It clicked in Optimus's processor what Megatron was ranting about just micro-seconds before he blurted it out in front of witnesses. "My answer is no!" He shouted quickly, before Megatron could say anything too damming. "_No_, Megatron."

As hoped, Megatron stopped mid sentence, "What?"

"I said no," Optimus repeated as calmly as possible. "I am rejecting your advances."

Megatron's optics flared with outrage, "You're saying no?!"

Having just said the word 'no' quite clearly, three times, Optimus found himself quickly losing patience. "Of course I'm saying no!"

Behind Megatron the seekers had started muttering. Optimus couldn't hear what they were saying from the distance he was standing at, but from the smirk plastered across Starscream's face, he couldn't imagine it being anything polite.

"So take a hike!" Ratchet shouted when Megatron had failed to move. "Go on! Clear off! He's not interested!"

Surprisingly, Megatron didn't aim his fusion cannon at Ratchet's face, but he looked far from pleased as he stared the medic down.

Behind Optimus Jazz was lifting Prowl up onto his shoulder. Ratchet had hold of his forearm and was trying to lead him away from the Decepticons, but Optimus remained just long enough to overhear the comment Megatron shared with his second.

"-persistence, Starscream. Few wars are won in a single battle."

Optimus swallowed around the lump growing in his throat. By the sounds of it, this was far from over.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't an uncommon ability, amongst Cybertronians, to shrink. But mass conversion, which allowed a bot as tall a multi-story human apartment to assume the altmode of something as small as say, a cassette player, wasn't something Optimus himself was endowed with.

He wished it was; as he entered his own command centre only for the entire room to fall deathly silent, ten pairs of optics very deliberately trying not to make contact with his own. He wished he could fold into a transformation sequence and inhabit the shape of something so small and insignificant it would be impossible feel so mortifyingly exposed.

He cleared his vocaliser.

"I... Am going for a walk," he announced to the room at general. He looked towards Ironhide, who had his arms folded defensively, his gaze transfixed on a certain square of floor which was somehow so interesting he couldn't divert his attention from it.

"Dunno if that's a good idea," Jazz at least, wasn't afraid to look at him. "It's late. It's dark. There are Decepticons out there, maybe ready to- Primus, I dunno, marry you off-"

"Thank you, Jazz," Optimus rumbled, holding up a servo. "I'm as aware of the situation as you are."

"Still," Sideswipe bounced up to him, far less awkward than the rest of his comrades and almost -Optimus suspected- excited*. "Someone should go with you. Just in case. Defend your honour."

Optimus was thankful for his new faceplate as his cheeks began to warm.

"Sideswipe," he warned, "The Decepticons are no more a threat to me now than they were yesterday, whatever their intentions."

Towards the back of the room Red Alert's helm sprang up, mouth open, ready to throw his thoroughly unwanted opinion into the mix.

"-I am perfectly capable of defending myself," he said sternly, and deliberately aimed a pointed digit at Red Alert. "So I don't expect to be watched," he snapped his helm to Sideswipe, "or followed. And I certainly don't expect to find anyone hiding in the bushes."

Jazz grinned cheekily, "Ain't making any promises, Prime."

He may have been fighting a losing battle.

Outside it was dusk. The air was cool and the gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees. The birds had fallen silent but the insects were just beginning to wake up, continuing the ever present chorus of nature. It was comforting, a welcome distraction from his own speeding thoughts.

He deliberately ignored the perimeter cameras as he passed them, brows drawing into a frown as he heard the telltale mechanical whir of them following him. He had an impression of Red Alert in the control room, servo on the joy stick control, a dozen other Autobot's crowding the screen behind him.

It was nice to know they had so much respect for his orders and privacy. He was tempted to flip the camera off.

He shifted into vehicle mode and sped down the narrow dirt tracks out of Autobot territory. He drove until the sky had darkened from navy to black, and the stars began to peak out from behind it. Far from the base, from his fretting fraction, from his problems; Optimus pulled up besides a lake, engines switching off with a great sigh.

There were twigs and dead leaves beneath his tires, and he was reminded of Megatron's gifts*. The thought twisted his tank unpleasantly. Not even amusement at the knowledge that the Decepticons were so utterly clueless when it came to the concept of organic beauty -that one of them had thought dead foliage was just as acceptable a gift as freshly cut flowers- could ease the tight knot of worry.

The entire debacle was ridiculous. But Megatron had been deadly serious.

And If a lifetime of war taught him anything it was that he never gave up either.

His com flashed and beeped with a message. _Prowl_, Optimus noted with a quick glance. He ignored it, and soon enough a message came through; several paragraphs long and undoubtedly inflected with his Second's authoritative lecture-tone. One frequently used to cow Jazz and the twins, and once even Ratchet.

To prevent being guilted back to the Ark, he decided not to read it.

He twisted up and out of shape, armour splitting and re-locking together as he came to stand in his bipedal form. His pedes sank into the damp earth besides the lake, the mud rising over his treads. He didn't mind, stopping inches from the dark shore line.

He offlined his optics, opening his intakes to take in a deep breath, savouring the gentle sounds of nature-

He snapped them back online, aware of not only an approaching presence, but how unnaturally quiet it was.

Optimus flicked on his infra-red, scanning the tall trees on the bank opposite. A tall, broad figure became an orange silhouette amongst them. Optimus onlined his weapon, aimed, and fired.

On his infra-red the figure froze -just narrowly avoiding a blaster bolt to the shoulder- and looked up. Two distinctly crimson optics glinted in the dark.

"Megatron," he snarled, a familiar thrill of fury flooding his chest, drowning any earlier felt anxiety. He turned the power up on his blaster, aiming this time for a far more fatal shot.

"Megatron!" He called louder, voice echoing back at him across the water. "Show yourself!"

The Decepticon kept an even pace, seemingly unbothered by the warning shot that had so nearly removed his left arm. Huge shoulders turned as his tall frame squeezed between the trees, branches cracking as they were pushed aside. It was dark, but Optimus could have _sworn _he was smirking.

"Come here often?" Megatron's rasp was casual, completely unfamiliar. His optics flickered away from Optimus and the glowing weapon trained on his face to take in their surroundings.

"You won't take me without a fight," Optimus growled, refusing to be thrown off, though noting with confusion that Megatron wasn't wearing his fusion cannon. "Wherever your mechs are hiding, I won't-"

"No one is hiding," Megatron told him, and stepped off the shores edge and into the lake, splashing water loudly and carelessly. "I'm here alone."

The last time they had been alone together something far from consensual had happened. Optimus pushed more energy to his blaster. It whirred loudly.

"Not another step, Megatron."

The warlord stopped. Halfway across the lake, thigh deep in the lake, arms slack at his sides, expression thoughtful. The moonlight shone against his back, defining the lines of his shoulders and helm in silver light. His tall shadow stretched across the water, reaching Optimus on the opposite shore.

"Have you thought about your decision?" Megatron asked him, after a long pause. His chin lifted appraisingly, his optics dimming. "Do you... require more gifts?"

"No!" Optimus snapped quickly. "No. No more gifts. No more _dead _animals. No more anything."

The Decepticon's expression hardened into something Optimus was far more familiar with, "You _accepted_ my proposition-"

"I accepted nothing," Optimus shot him down quickly, taking a step forward. Water swirled around his pedes. "You're no more courting me than you are Red Alert. He found your gifts. I had no knowledge of any of this- this ridiculousness!"

"You know my intentions now," Megatron growled, disturbing the water as he moved. One servo drew something from his subspace and Optimus snapped his weapon back up again, visions of a bomb being thrown at his face.

"Perhaps," the warlord murmured carefully, lifting his servo for Optimus's inspection as he moved closer. "This is better suited to your tastes?"

It was a knife. The blade black and marbled with silver, engraved in glyphs Optimus couldn't decipher. It looked vaguely Tarnish.

"Hand me that blade and I'll stab you with it," Optimus warned seriously.

Megatron's optics glinted with interest, he took another step, "Is that a promise?"

Optimus's jaw clenched, blaster pulsing with a charge just waiting to be fired into that old, arrogant face. "You're insane."

"You haven't shot me yet." Megatron pointed out, gesturing to the considerably narrowed gap between them.

Optimus aimed his blaster at the lake's surface and fired, water sprayed upwards and showered Megatron's dark frame. But he didn't even flinch. A light breeze caught some of the mist and brushed Optimus's frame with it. He shuddered at the chill as the Decepticon across from him stepped closer still, knife handle extended towards him.

"Take it," Megatron coaxed, close enough for Optimus to see the water tracking down moonlit armour, to see it drip back into the lake below. "Optimus, take-"

Hearing _that_ voice speak his designation spawned an unexplainable rush of anger; that Megatron would _dare_ be so familiar-

Denta grit together and before Optimus had even considered what he was doing, his servo was wrapping around that blade, tugging it out of the warlord's grasp, and then plunging it with merciless force into slighter armour of the Decepticon's abdomen with savage retribution.

A choked noise left Megatron's intakes, his optics sparkling bright with surprise.

Optimus's servo left the blade like it had suddenly been electrified, spark leaping in surprise at his own actions. He had stabbed an unarmed mech. It wasn't selfdefense. He hadn't even been provoked...

Megatron staring at him with what seemed like wonder, bent slightly over his wound, but otherwise unbothered by it.

"I-" Optimus struggled for words, half surprised he hadn't already been tackled into the water yet, Megatron's servos around his throat, squeezing in retribution. "I'm-"

He stumbled over the hidden rocks beneath the lake's surface as he backed away quickly. His engine revved as he threw himself into a transformation sequence, tires splattering mud across his armour as they struggled to carry him up the bank and away from the water. Away from Megatron.

In his rear view mirror the Decepticon watched him, servos poised over the blade still buried deep in his armour.

* * *

Prowl was waiting for him when he got back. Like the creator of an unruly adolescent he was tapping his pede, arms folded to emit maximum disproval levels.

It helped nothing that it was well past midnight, and Optimus's armour was splattered with mud.

Prowl met his gaze silently, before turning and leading them back into the Ark.

"I thought it best to prepare ourselves for whatever nonsense Megatron is currently partaking in," Prowl announced, tone betraying none of his obvious irritation for his Commander's latest disappearance act. "I've been looking into courting rituals-"

Optimus felt part of his spark wither under a wave of both embarrassment and frustration. He wasn't able to suppress a heavy sigh.

"Tarnish courting rituals," Prowl barely sparred him a glance. "I'd rather us not be caught so unaware again."

"Prowl," Optimus felt weary, his servos felt dirty, and he wanted nothing more than to retreat to his quarters, drown himself in high grades, and forget this entire cycle had ever occurred. "I don't think this needs to be taken so seriously."

"It does." Prowl stopped and turned to him. "Very. Whether Megatron's intentions are genuine or not, any opportunity to gain the upper hand on the enemy must be taken. If we can predict Megatron's actions, we can begin to neutralise the threat he poses to both organic and Cybertronian life. Him and his Decepticons."

Optimus frowned, "You're not asking me to go along with this are you?"

"Of course not." Prowl's expression matched his own. "Why? Do you want-?"

"No!" Optimus waved his servo, "No I- Tell me what you learnt."

Prowl unsubspaced a datapad, narrow digits scrolling through the text. "You never visited Tarn?" He asked casually.

"Once," Optimus nodded, "Briefly."

"Tarn was very strict when it came courting rituals," Prowl span the datapad around and held it up for his leader's inspection. "They adhered to a more traditional sub-culture that some of the larger cities. Save for Vos. A lot of importance was put into forming family units."

Optimus looked over the information presented to him, intrigued by the programmed differences in mechs that were really still the same despite the city state they might have been sparked in. He was skimming through the bulk of information when suddenly the word 'Heat' caught his gaze.

He flicked the datapad off and handed it back.

"Anything I need to look out for?"

"Do not encourage him by accepting any more gifts," Prowl tucked the datapad under his arm, "I have informed Red Alert of the same. Especially any weapons he might leave for you."

Optimus shuttered his optics, a dark sense of foreboding began to settled across his chest. "...Weapons?"

Prowl nodded, "Genus Blade; it is presented as a symbol of betrothal."

_Blade_, Optimus thought numbly, remembering the expression on Megatron's face when he'd sunk it deep into his armour.

Wonderful.

"Thank you, Prowl," he nodded, processor spinning. "I think- I will retire for the night now."

None the wiser, his Second nodded, and marched off down the corridor.

Once out of sight Optimus slumped against the nearest bulkhead, barely fighting the urge to slap his servos to his face.

He dearly hoped Megatron bled out from that knife wound.

* * *

Megatron did not bleed out from his knife wound.

Optimus was very aware that he hadn't, as the next morning, in blatant disregard of Prowl's orders, an open box sat on his desk. Inside, delicately cushioned atop plush silk fabrics, laid a familiar black blade.

Still stained with energon, Optimus noted with distain.

Ironhide was stood across the desk from him, looking somewhere between worried and annoyed but trying diligently not to project either emotion. Besides him, Ratchet looked ready to blow a gasket and wasn't making any effort to look otherwise.

Optimus stuck his servo inside the box and between his thumb and forefinger, lifted the offending object out, dangling it above it's box.

"Want me n' Ratch to bury that thing in his ugly face? You jus' say the word, Prime."

Optimus lowered the blade back down, "I'm sure that won't be necessary, Ironhide, thank you." He smiled tightly behind his facemask. "I fully intend to do that myself."

"What I jus' don't get," Ironhide began, scratching the back of his helm. "Is what he's tryin' t' get outta it?"

Ratchet finally broke from his silent fuming to nudge Ironhide's considerably bulkier frame in the direction of the door. "Never you mind," he snapped, "Now get out of here-"

Ironhide began digging his heels in, "Why-?"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality! Out!"

Ratchet's shout sent Ironhide stumbling over the threshold and the medic sealed the door behind him, servo slapping the controls with unnecessary force.

Optimus let himself sink into his chair as Ratchet turned back around to settle his hardened gaze on him.

"...Should I tell them?" He asked eventually, caving under the pressure.

Ratchet released a deep breath, landing in the seat opposite, "None of their business."

"They trust me. And I've-"

"You haven't done anything to betray that trust," Ratchet told him sternly, gaze softening with understanding, shifting from cranky senior to wise advisor in a spark-beat.

Optimus felt that familiar swell of guilt rise in his tanks again, "I saw him."

Ratchet's optics flashed, "...Saw him?"

"Megatron." He swallowed, "He must have had someone watching me. He found me last night."

Ratchet stood abruptly, "What did he do?"

"He didn't-"

The medic's servo cut through the air, "Prime, I swear _to Primus_-"

"Ratchet, I promise you," Optimus said loudly but calmly, "He didn't touch me."

His medic didn't look like he would be suspending disbelief anytime soon. One optical ridge arched skeptically, Ratchet settled back into his seat. "What did _you _do?"

"I stabbed him," He admitted, nodding his helm at the box on his desk, "With that blade."

"Good," Ratchet leant forward to get another glance at the weapon, "It'll discourage him at least."

"I don't think it will," Optimus's spark twisted at the memory of the awed expression on Megatron's face when he'd skewered the warlord on his own gift.

He needed to read Prowl's report on Tarnish Courting traditions in more depth. Knowing his luck, Megatron was going to turn up later that afternoon and happily inform him that stabbing him had been some sort of bizarre gesture of acceptance.

* * *

Megatron grimaced through the pain as Hook welded the last section of armour back together.

"Well. He certainly didn't hold back," his medic admired sarcastically.

Megatron might have smacked him for his insolence had he not been wielding dangerous potentially deadly mechanical equipment so close to his extremities.

His situation only worsened when the doors whooshed open to emit an even bigger pain in the aft. Starscream, fresh from dropping yet another package off on the Autobot's doorstep. Hopefully, this time without incident.

"Well?" He snapped, denta still gritted in pain. "Did they take it?"

"Of course they did," Starscream pulled a face, "I don't see what the point is. If he already took it from your servo-"

"And stabbed me with it."

"He still _took it_," Starscream fixed him with a look, "He's just playing hard to get..."

Megatron would rather not take courting advice from Starscream. But seeing as he and his trine were the only mechs actually bonded in his entire faction, he didn't particularly have a lot of other options.

He supposed it did make sense. Gladiators in the pit were known to draw weapons during courting rituals, fighting to assert themselves, to earn one another's respect, to prove themselves.

Prime was as much a warrior as he was, and so had every right to test his worthiness as a mate.

He simply hoped he wasn't found lacking at the end of it all.

"You know, a polish probably wouldn't hurt either." Starscream's scratchy voice interrupted his musing.

Megatron lifted his helm, working very hard to maintain his glare as Hook ran a mechanical sander across raw armour to smooth away the fresh welds.

His Second just couldn't keep his mouth shut though, "You're not helping yourself with that expression either."

Megatron tore the sander from Hook's grasp and threw it at the seeker's helm.


	4. Chapter 4

It was past midnight. The Ark had been locked down for the night and the systems put on standby. Optimus was almost in recharge. Almost.

His com beeped with an unfamiliar chime. The sender was unknown, the coordinates originating from somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Optimus stared at it, a heavy feeling settled in the bottom of his tanks.

He debated opening it. Despite obvious attempts at remaining anonymous the origin was quite clear to Optimus. Harassing him with unwanted messages in the middle of the night and disturbing his recharge cycle had Megatron written all over it.

There was a question of how the enemy might have gotten hold of such a supposedly secure channel, and if it would be worth bothering Wheeljack to have the frequency changed to prevent further communication. He certainly didn't want Megatron comming him all hours of the cycle like an organic adolescent with a cellphone and a crush.

His finger hoovered over the flashing 'accept'.

What could it possibly contain? A virus to glitch his systems? Perhaps a threat to ensure his compliance?

An overheard conversation between Jazz and Spike about a human phenomenon called 'Sexting' suddenly entered his processor, and his chest burned with annoyance. If he opened this message and an intimate, highly unsolicited image of Megatron were to pop up, he was going to march down to the Decepticon Headquarters and put an end to this buffoonery with a swift kick up that self important warlord's aft.

He hit accept.

_36.1070° N, 112.1130° W. Meet me at 0300_.

With a disapproving huff, Optimus deleted the message, coordinates and all.

There was a vague afterthought that perhaps he could have passed the information onto Prowl. His tactician would have staged an ambush. If Megatron had been stupid enough to expect this plan to have worked, he probably would have been stupid enough to come alone.

The Matrix stirred beside his spark. That sort of underhandedness was something the Decepticons did. Not them.

Glancing across the room to his desk, the stained blade he had frustratedly thrown across it earlier in the evening glinted at him. Like a teasing wink.

Optimus scowled to himself beneath his facemask, landing back against his berth heavily. The only thing that seemed to cool his mounting anger was the memory of Megatron's expression when he'd shoved that knife in.

He had the sudden, inappropriately crude thought, that at least now Megatron knew what it felt like to be impaled against his wishes too.

* * *

Optimus's com beeped for the fifth time in an hour, and Prowl paused mid sentence.

"Do you need to take that?"

Optimus was grateful for the mask obscuring his embarrassed expression. "No," he growled, deleting it without looking. "Please, continue."

Across from him Prowl turned back to his lengthy and exceeding boring presentation on the tactical advantages of establishing a secondary security base along the coast line. As it was so boring, the room's other occupant, Jazz, still seemed more interested in his Commander, than he did Prowl.

His comm beeped again.

Jazz's helm whipped around, his grin blinding, and Optimus had to restrain himself before he hit the table in frustration.

"Someone's gotta friend," his saboteur commented mischievously.

Prowl cleared his throat, servos on his hips as he fixed Jazz with a Look. "Do you mind?"

"Hey, it's his com," Jazz shifted blame quickly, pointing at Optimus. "He's the one distracting _me_."

Prowl's gaze snapped back to him, and Optimus moved to stand before he could even ask. "It's fine. Can we continue this another time? It seems I need my comlink... adjusted."

His Second nodded understandingly.

Optimus went to leave the room in relief, servo already automatically dismissing the last message. When another beep rang out. Jaw clenched beneath the mask Optimus looked down, half prepared to rip the damn communication device from his own wrist just to make it stop. Only to realise it hadn't been his com at all.

He turned, and Jazz was sat with his own com aloft, reading.

Optimus felt his spark drop out of the bottom of it's chamber.

But the saboteur met his gaze with pleased little smirk, "Ya know, I'd probably refuse to pass this on, on the grounds that I'm not Megatron's little messenger drone, but-"

He leant across the table, angling the message for his Commander to see.

"-he did say 'please'."

With great unwillingness, Optimus leant in.

_Prime. 36.1070° N, 112.1130° W. Meet me at 2300 tonight. Please._

"Erase it." He snapped with unnecessary heat. Jazz didn't seem bothered, his servo moved to the comlink.

"Should I at least reply with a 'no thanks?'"

Optimus's response was to shut the door of the meeting room in his face.

* * *

The coordinates led him to the Grand Canyon. Optimus stood at the bottom between the high rocky walls; blaster out and ready, nervous energy building as every second ticked closer to the meeting time.

At present, the canyon was deserted. And Optimus had the sudden bizarre concern that he might be stood up. For an ambush/ meeting/ date, that he hadn't even wanted to go to.

He had turned back twice on his way before finally finding the perseverance to go through with coming, whatever the consequences. He was here to return Megatron's blade and to tell him to kindly go and frag himself, and that was all.

And perhaps shoot him; if he didn't behave.

His chrono changed to the hour, and Optimus's spark did a little spin as he glanced around him. No sign of-

The thunk of metal pedes against hard rock met his audials. He switched on his headlights, illuminating the rocky passage just as a shiny, silver form stepped around it, and froze in place at the sight of him.

"You came." Megatron's voice rasped in apparent shock.

Optimus lessened the brightness of his headlights, so they weren't quite so dazzling against the Decepticon's armour, and was struck with the bizarre realisation that, "-You polished?"

Megatron glanced down at himself as if he too was surprised. "Yes, well. I. See, Starscream- he-" he cut off, looking furious with himself.

His second-hand embarrassment was almost enough for Optimus to pity him. Almost.

He reached into his subspace and withdrew the blade. Megatron's optics brightened at the sight of it, hopeful. Until Optimus threw it down. It clattered to a stop between the Decepticon's pedes.

"That was a gift." He said gruffly.

"Do I look like I'm interested in your gifts?" Optimus responded harshly, optics blazing over the top of his mask. "Or anything else you have to offer, for that matter?"

Megatron's back straightened, affronted, "Then why did you come?"

"To tell you to back off!" Optimus's timbre echoed off the high rocks, impossibly loud in the empty canyon. "How many times do I have to say 'no' before it gets through your thick helm?"

Rocks tumbled as Megatron began to move down the slight incline towards him, shoulders rolling with his purposeful strides, "Back _off?_!" He snarled, "You started this-"

"Started _what_?" Optimus held his ground, lifting his blaster to dissuade his enemy's advance. "You started this nonsense. I made no such... _Solicitations _towards you, and I don't know what you're thinking to gain from this, but it stops. It stops now, Megatron."

"No 'solicitations'?" Megatron's expression twisted sarcastically, "Then what on Cybertron was that state you were in at that power station? Rushing into battle in the middle of a heat cycle, you were damn lucky you didn't-"

"Lucky?!" Optimus's energon ran cold at the memory; pressed into the ground, Megatron's hot, heavy armour on top of him, his cold crimson stare -the same stare the Decepticon was giving him now. He shook his helm furiously, brandishing his blaster. He was so angry he almost couldn't form sentences.

"That wasn't. I never went looking-!"

Megatron's expression was as tight and incensed as his was beneath the mask.

He lifted his blaster, aiming it between the Decepticon's narrowed optics, "I didn't _consent_ to _that_."

"And you think I did?" Megatron's replied coldly. "Do you think I wanted to do that? That I _enjoyed it_? That I don't know what it feels like to be pinned down and-"

"Don't." Optimus didn't want to hear the rest of that sentence. He didn't want to know. And he was done reliving that moment in the power station. "It happened. It's over."

"Let me make it right." A large grey servo lifted and extended towards him. Optimus met the Decepticon's optics again, surprised by their sudden dimness, "Allow me to prove myself to you."

Optimus scoffed, darkly delighting at the insulted expression on his enemy's face. "I know all too well what sort of mech you are already, Megatron."

"I see," Megatron growled, his optics tracking up and down his frame disapprovingly. "The great and righteous Matrix bearer, Cybertron's chosen saviour, too pure to be seen consorting with Decepticon filth-"

"Your reputation is of your own making-" Optimus felt his temper rising again.

"And how long did it take to wash my touch away?" Megatron continued, "I'm surprised you didn't wear your off your paint."

_Hours_, Optimus's processor unconsciously supplied for him. He had been in the wash-racks for hours, fingers numb from the constant scrubbing, paint thinning under the assault. "Do not provoke me."

"You think this is provoking?" Megatron's optics blazed, his gestures growing aggressive. "How's _this_ for provoking? Do you know what surprised me most about that day in the power station? Beside how much you moaned like a common drone when I spiked you, was that I didn't find that sacred valve of yours _sealed_, you sanctimonious prig!"

Optimus subspaced his blaster; he needed both servos to kick Megatron's aft.

He threw himself forward, swinging for the Decepticon's helm. Megatron caught his fist in his open palm, and squeezed, almost crushing it. Ignoring the pain, Optimus bent his knee, lifting his leg, and sent his pede slamming into Megatron's abdomen -right against a recently repaired stab wound.

Wincing, the Decepticon released him, air rushing from his intakes with a pained huff. He curled in around the dented armour, snarling, "You-"

Optimus didn't let him get the insult out, taking full advantage of the Decepticons winded state. He sent his elbow down against Megatron's exposed backstrut, and drove his knee up into the damage.

Megatron fell with a ground shaking crash to his knees, one servo catching himself against the ground, the other wrapped around his middle. Optimus loomed over him, ready to kick him even whilst he was down if he dared open that arrogant mouth of his.

Panting heavily, the Decepticon lifted his helm, a devious spark to his optics. "Feel better now?"

"Get up." Optimus rumbled, only because he wanted to knock him to the ground again.

Megatron did, slowly, like a wounded old mech. He stretched, arching his back to crack it, watching him very deliberately, "...Like what you see?"

Optimus's servo was around his throat before he could blink.

He shoved the Decepticon against the canyon wall hard enough to dislodge dust and small rocks that pinged against their armour like little drops of rain. He felt the air rush from Megatron's intakes, this time wafting hotly against his windshield.

Megatron leant into the servo clamped tightly around his neck, gaze daring, mouth set in a hard line. His servo lifted to curl around Optimus's wrist, but he didn't try to break his grip.

"What do you want from me?" Optimus demanded, servo tightening.

He didn't answer, tilting his helm forwards, lips parting to breathe. He moved in, closer and closer, intimidating with his proximity, but Optimus refused to lean away, spark picking up speed as it span.

Finally, there was a tiny ding as the tip of Megatron's nose met his faceplate. He breathed heavily against it.

Optimus's legs felt numb.

"Get this stupid thing out of my way," the Decepticon muttered, lips nudging the mask as he spoke.

There was a sharp click as the latches released and the faceplate parted down the middle. Optimus had just enough time to exhale before Megatron's mouth closed that half inch between them wetly, lips colliding harshly.

With a muffled snarl Megatron pushed off the canyon wall, surging into the kiss, sharp denta closing on Optimus's bottom lip and pulling until his intakes hitched at the sting. Energon on his glossa, Optimus shoved back, movements hurried as he tried to regain the advantage, pushing into the Decepticon's mouth with as much invasiveness as he himself was receiving.

Megatron smacked his servo away from his throat. Distracted, it went easily. Optimus almost stumbled, grimacing against his foes messy, assertive advances.

Megatron stepped closer, broad chest bumping his own. Two servos then somehow found his hips, and Optimus knew he was done for.

The kiss broke with a gasp of breath and Megatron's snarled, "Prime-", and Optimus caught the Decepticon's wide shoulders just as he was span, pedes tripping over one another, and thrown against the wall he had just been pinning Megatron too.

Their positions suitably reversed, Megatron closed the distance once again. This kiss longer, lingering just enough for Optimus to taste the oil on the Decepticon's glossa, to shudder at the slide of lips, the teasing nips at his glossa.

He stifled a moan, sinking back against the rock, hips twitching ever so slightly at the servos tightly grasping them. Megatron fitted himself close, weight resting against him.

"This is better, isn't it?" He heard Megatron murmur, a hairs breadth from his lips.

Optimus couldn't bring himself to respond, couldn't even find the strength to online his optics. He felt his way down Megatron's shoulders, down his chest, servos pressing against the thick armour, ready to push him away as soon as- as soon as-

Megatron mouth brushed his, slow and coaxing, drawing Optimus in, skilfully tricking him into initiating the kiss. He tilted his helm, bumping their noses, and he felt Megatron's lips curving.

He was forced to admit to himself that he had vastly lost control of the situation.

Megatron reached up and removed a servo from his chest plates, pushing something into his palm before closing his digits around it firmly. He drew back, "For you."

Optimus forced himself to online his optics, and was met with Megatron's deep penetrating stare. He watched him lean in, one last time, to press a firm kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Till next time."

He stepped away, leaving Optimus stunned, half slumped against a dusty canyon wall, face exposed and lips swollen. He couldn't imagine what a state he must have looked as he watched Megatron walk away into the night, strides long and purposeful, without so much as a backwards glance.

Optimus shuttered his optics, spark hollow and aching, and lifted his servo. He stared at the blade Megatron had pressed into it abysmally. This little scenario certainly wasn't going to help dissuade further romantic advances.

After what felt like hours of waiting for his legs to start responding to his processor, he pushed away from the rock wall, servo lifting to his tender lips. They came away damp with energon from where he'd been bitten.

His mask sealed back in place with a snap. Spark hardening, he straightened his back.

A tiny beep signalled a message arrival before he could take more than two steps though. Defeated and already embarrassed beyond realms he would have thought possible, Optimus didn't worry about opening it.

_You're far too handsome to be hiding behind that mask. _

Optimus thought about sending a strongly worded response back. But that could be seen as encouraging contact. He ignored the message.

But he didn't delete it either.

* * *

It was late enough that the corridors were deserted when Optimus returned to the Ark. He thanked Primus and anyone else that might have been listening that Prowl wasn't awake to lecture him. His Second had an eye for detail. It didn't matter that Optimus didn't wear any visible marks from what had happened. Prowl would just _know. _

He stumbled into his berth and sprawled himself across it, staring up at his blank ceiling.

Megatron's blade was still in his servo.

He hurriedly stuffed it under the berth coverings, out of sight, and tried to summon thoughts of the most utterly un-arousing things in existence. Vector Sigma, paperwork, the future of his entire species weighing solely on his shoulders...

The warm pressure between his hips didn't ease. His fingers curled against the berth's insulation covers.

With a furious noise, he rose. There was nothing for it, he thought with great resignation, he was going to have to take a cold shower, like a frisky adolescent with no outlet. It was that or the alternative, and he knew he didn't have the willpower to banish the recent memory of Megatron's servos, and lips, and glossa-

His array throbbed beneath his panel and he quickly ducked inside the wash-racks, yanking the temperature gage all the way down before slapping the spray on.

He braced, and half a second later ice cold solvent doused him, trickling between his seams and seizing his armour. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to remain under the spray even as it stung. He deserved it anyway.

He let his helm thunk against the wall with a deep sigh, arousal wilting but processor still spinning.

He needed to make absolutely sure that no one ever learned of this. Not Prowl, not even Ratchet.

His tank rolled with a sudden worry that Megatron was unlikely to be as exclusive with his own faction. Decepticons didn't seem the sort to keep intimate affairs and liaisons particularly private. He could only imagine what sort of gossip was being carried through the halls of the Decepticon's underwater base that very moment.

Seekers in particular -he remembered from his experiences in Vos as a much younger Prime- were terrible gossips.

He switched off the solvent spray.

Looked like some damage control might be in order.


End file.
